


After the Games

by saintnoname



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Ending, Cato and Clove won, F/M, Mentions of Violence, Post-Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:41:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintnoname/pseuds/saintnoname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cato and Clove won the Games.  This is what happens to them after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Games

 Almost losing Clove was what did it for Cato.  He’d been doing an excellent job keeping up his cold demeanor until he saw her lying on the ground, and something inside him snapped.  It had been stupid and sloppy on his part, but Clove had been his rock through all this.  Initially just as part of the alliance, and later as a symbol of hope.  They could go home together.

So when he’d thought he might lose his districtmate, the thought of his being alone for the first time in the Games sent him running to her side, calling her name.  He wasn’t supposed to show or even feel emotion.  He was supposed to be a ruthless killing machine, trained to win the Games.

The problem was, they’d never prepared him for what came after the Games.

Clove still practiced throwing knives every day.  Old habits die hard, and she found she couldn’t give up the sport.

Her precious throwing knives had been taken from her when she and Cato won.  That was the worst part about winning—even worse than the boredom.  But she could improvise.  She was good at that.  She took to throwing steak knives, forks, meat cleavers.  Whatever she could get her hands on.

Except…her aim wasn’t as sure as it used to be.  The force with which Thresh had hit her head had left her with brain damage, and some of the things she used to do well were now a chore for her.  Where there was once a time she would’ve ventured to say she never missed, she was off often now, not quite hitting her mark much of the time.  But she continued anyway, much like a forty-year-old who still talks about what a great football player he was in high school.  It was cathartic, even necessary for her.

Clove’s new house was too big.  Her footsteps echoed through it when she walked.  The young man who’d won the games with her was now her next door neighbor, but they’d hardly spoken since returning.  It hurt, after the bond they’d formed during the Games.  When she thought about it, though, it really did make sense; the point of their alliance had been survival.  Getting home.  But then there’d been the way Cato ran to her side, called her name, held her hand as she slipped into unconsciousness.  He had to care about her to have done that, right?  But then why hadn’t he come to see her since the Games?

She had too much free time now.  After all the preparation for and excitement of the Games, she found herself getting bored frequently now that she’d returned to mundane life.  She wondered if the boy next door felt the same.  Was this how all the victors felt?  They were promised that, as victors, they would gain fame and wealth.  They weren’t told they might suffer from crippling boredom, or that they might sustain brain damage.  That injuries sustained in the arena wouldn’t necessarily stay in the arena.

She stared at the knife she fiddled with in her hands until she couldn’t take it anymore.  Cato was the only other person who had been in the arena with her.  He was the only one who knew firsthand what it was like.  For the first time since their return, she walked next door to visit the boy who understood.

It jarred her when the door was opened not by Cato, but by his father.  The thought that Cato even had parents hadn’t even crossed her mind.  It hadn’t occurred to her that  _any_ of her fellow tributes had had family.  Out in the arena, she couldn’t afford to think about that.

For a second, the girl from District 12 flashed through Clove’s mind.  The girl she’d so expertly carved before Thresh found her.  The girl who’d first risen to popularity by volunteering in place of her sister.  But Clove couldn’t think of that girl’s sister, nor could she feel guilt.

“Hi.  Is Cato there?” she asked, instead focusing her attention on the only father other than her own who hadn’t lost his kid in the arena.

“Yes, he is.  One minute.”

Clove sat on a couch in the parlor of the house as oversized as her own.  A few minutes later, Cato entered the room.  When he saw her, he looked less than enthused, but she wasn’t going to let that put her off.

“Hey, Cato,” she said.

“Hey.”

“How come you haven’t been over to visit me?”

“How come  _you_  haven’t been over to see  _me_?”

That statement angered her, and she narrowed her eyes at him.  “I’m here to see you now, aren’t I?”

Cato, unable to refute that statement, shrugged and sat down beside her.  “So, what are you here for?”

Clove was silent for a moment.  “Are you as bored as I am?”

Cato smirked.  “You mean since we got back?  Yeah, I’m pretty bored.”

Vindicated by his confirmation that he felt the same, Clove allowed a very small smile.  “There’s nothing to do around here,” she continued.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

There was more of that awkward silence.  This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be.  They were supposed to take refuge in each other—they were the first ever pair to win, after all.  “So why  _haven’t_  you been over to visit me?” Clove asked.

When the other remained silent, didn’t look like he had any intention of answering her question, it was more than she could take.  “Damn it, Cato!  You know what happened to me in the Games—how I almost died!  It didn’t occur to you that after that, I’d  _want_  you to come?”

“It’s because you almost died that I haven’t gone to see you.  It made me realize how invested I was.  Too invested.”

“Cato?  What are you—”

“And now, here you are.  And we’ve got the Victory Tour coming up.”

“Cato!  Stop it!  We’re not in the Games anymore!”

“But things will never be the same again.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to go through them alone.”

Cato’s hand came to rest on Clove’s, mirroring its movement from the day she almost died.  Strong fingers squeezed her small hand.  Clove smiled at the gesture, and ventured to lean against the boy.  When he didn’t push her away, she made herself comfortable against him.

“I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting,” Cato murmured.

“Me, too.”

“Are you ready for the Victory Tour?”

Clove grinned, giving his hand a squeeze of her own.  “You know I am.”


End file.
